


It's Not About the Cocoa

by coolbyrne



Category: Rizzoli & Isles
Genre: F/F
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-03-02
Updated: 2014-03-02
Packaged: 2018-01-14 06:25:45
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,598
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1256161
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/coolbyrne/pseuds/coolbyrne
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"I can't think of a single thing I have that I wouldn't give to you, Jane." A short story of how Jane finally takes what she wants. More of a PWP, though I've tried to make a point.</p>
            </blockquote>





	It's Not About the Cocoa

TITLE: It's Not About the Cocoa

Author: coolbyrne

Rating: M

Disclaimer: All that I write legally belongs to someone else. No infringement implied, no money made, etc.

Notes: I’d like to make a comment about the genesis of the story- I’ve always been a bit annoyed that people treat Jane they way they do, when something goes wrong it’s always “Get Jane to fix it.” Jane, of course, is just as guilty of letting people treat her that way, so it becomes this unhealthy cycle. But if the question is, who watches the watchers, then who takes care of the caregivers? I’m also annoyed at how this affects Maura, where she becomes the bystander caught in all of it. I wouldn’t call her an innocent bystander, though, because as an adult, she’s just as guilty of the situation being what it is as Jane is. The difference being- as I hope I show in this fic- Maura realizes it, where Jane does not. I hope this explains Maura’s detachment to Jane’s arrival on her doorstep. Anyway, I hope you enjoy. Translation for the Latin Maura uses late in the story is "With you I would love to live, with you I would be willing to die." I just thought it would be something she'd say, perhaps without even realizing she's saying it. Thanks to Roman_Machine for the beta; you’re such a trooper, proof-reading my smut!

 

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Though she exuded the benefits of 8 hours of REM sleep, it was a luxury in which she rarely indulged. Being the Chief Medical Examiner for the State of Massachusetts didn't allow it, even on her days off. So when the sound of a knock came from her front door, she was instantly roused from her slumber. Slipping on a satin robe, she half-heartedly trudged down the stairs, her speed seemingly not to the satisfaction of the person on the other side of the door, because the knock came once again. Brief but insistent. Only two people had that kind of knock: policemen and...

"Jane," she said as she opened the door.

"Hey, Maura."

Even at this distance, even with her olfactory glands not yet quite awake, she could smell the sour odour of alcohol. "You've been drinking."

Jane used a hand to lean against the door frame. "Yeah. But I figure the walk probably sobered me up."

Maura frowned and looked around Jane for evidence of her car. She found none. Factoring in Jane's rate of inebriation to soberness, along with what Maura thought most likely wasn't a determined walk, she calculated, "That's a 90 minute walk!" When Jane did nothing but shrug, Maura did the same and stepped aside to let the brunette in.

There was something about the way Jane took the time to carefully kick off her boots and neatly place them on the nearby mat that almost made Maura smile. Almost. She didn't bother to watch the detective dutifully hang up her jacket as she walked towards the kitchen. She fiddled with the buttons on her coffee maker, waiting for Jane to join her at the island. When she slumped into a stool, Maura turned and brought down some mugs.

"I hesitate to offer you caffeine at this time of the morning, but I do have decaffeinated."

Jane dropped her head into her hands. "Maura, there's a time and a place for decaf- never, and in the garbage."

"Then perhaps I shouldn't tell you I've been giving you a mix of caffeinated and decaffeinated coffee for the past six months."

"What?"

"That taste of chicory you've been raving about?" That's the decaffeinated grind," she informed the dumbfounded brunette.

"Traitor," she grumbled.

"Mmmm," was Maura's only response as she grabbed a pitcher of water from her refridgerator. Pouring a generous amount into the kettle, she also filled a glass and handed it to Jane. "I'm assuming you don't want my herbal tea, either."

"Twigs and sticks? No. Thanks." Jane gratefully downed half the glass before placing it on the granite counter top.

Silence comfortably settled between them as they both waited for the kettle, Jane now with her chin resting on her fist, Maura shifting her stance to lazily rotate her ankles. Though Jane anticipated the shrill whistle of the kettle, Maura took it off the heat before the offending sound could break the silence. It may have been the middle of the night, but there was no excuse to not make a good cup of tea.

"When the water comes to a boil," Jane remarked lazily.

"What?"

Jane sat up and gestured to the kettle with her chin. "You take the water off just as it boils. Makes for a better cup of tea."

The ghost of a smile passed across Maura's lips. "You do listen to me."

"Most of the time."

"Well, the University of Northumbria has also determined the optimum cup of tea should sit for 6 minutes after the bag is removed, but I question their findings."

"You just don't want to wait that long."

Maura shrugged. "I admit to nothing."

The silence descended once again until all that could be heard was the gentle ticking of the kitchen clock. Maura glanced over, realizing she had no idea what the time was. An eyebrow rose when she found her answer. 3:20AM.

Jane must have seen her reaction and sussed out the reason, because without any preamble, she quietly said, "I broke up with Casey," as if that would explain her presence at her friend's house in the middle of the morning.

Maura picked up the incompleteness of Jane's comment. Subtracting the time it took for Jane to walk to Beaconhill, she said, "You broke up with him? At 1 o'clock in the morning?"

"No," she shook her head. "We were supposed to go out for dinner. He asked me if I had come to a decision about our engagement. I told him 'no'."

Maura carefully took a sip of her hot tea. "No you hadn't come to a decision or no was your answer?"

Jane looked away and gave a half-hearted shrug. "I don't think it matters. Giving back the ring probably said it all."

"Mmmm," was all she said in reply.

Eyebrows raised, Jane almost laughed. "That's it? A non-commital 'mmm'? No 'You've done the right thing' or 'You're making a mistake'? Nothing?"

"Do you think you're making a mistake?"

"Do you?"

With a light tilt of her head, Maura replied, "It's not about what I think, Jane. It's about what you think, what you feel."

Her head went back to her hands. "I feel like I've hurt a man who doesn't deserve it."

"I understand," the blonde said, "but how do you feel about what it means to you?"

Frowning, she rubbed her forehead with her fingertips. "Maura, it's either too early or too late to play word games with you."

"You want me to be clearer, Jane?" The detective nodded gratefully and Maura wondered where to start, how to temper her words. In the end, she knew she could only be honest with herself and honest with Jane. "Okay, have you ever done anything for yourself?"

She stopped rubbing her forehead but her frown remained. "Sorry?"

"The very nature of your job is a selfless one, but you've made personal choices that have seen you sacrifice your own happiness and your own life. You shot yourself, thinking you were doing it to save Frankie."

"What does that have to do with-"

"You worry about hurting Casey without thinking about how he hurt you."

"He didn't-"

Maura, never one to intentionally say a harsh word, gave in a little, just this once. "Really?" she asked, tossing back Jane's favourite word. "Marry me or I leave, after months of avoidance because I feared I couldn't please you sexually with my penis?"

"Maura!"

She plowed ahead, warming up now to her argument. "You're worried your mother will be disappointed once she finds out you've broken the engagement. That's why you're here and not at her doorstep at 3 in the morning."

The tone was unexpected and Maura could practically see the wall being built between them. "I'm here because I wanted to talk to my best friend," Jane said harshly.

"Maybe that's the problem," Maura mused. "Maybe I've been your friend too long."

Jane's sharp intake of breath was loud in the quietness of the kitchen. "What's that supposed to mean?"

"It means..." her own breath wasn't nearly as sharp, though it was a deep one. "It won't surprise you to know I've never had a friend like you, Jane." She waited for the look of mock surprise from the brunette before continuing. "I lived so long in my own head, afraid to come out, afraid of my own shadow. Then I met you." She took another sip of her tea, giving her time to put the words together. "And finally I learned what it was like to care about someone and have someone care about me. I could be me and that was okay. For once, being me wasn't met with mockery or derision." Closing her eyes briefly, she gave a nod of concession to a memory or two. "At least, not with the same element of humour you inject into your banter."

"Where's all this going, Maura?"

"It's me saying I never want to do anything to jeopardize that friendship. I look back on certain things and events and realize I didn't say anything because I feared it would hurt you or cause you to re-evaluate our friendship. And I don't know what I would do if I didn't have that in my life." Jane reached over and covered Maura's hands with hers. The blonde took another slow, deep breath. "But I know now how unfair that is to you. A friend should be there to pick up the pieces, but a friend should also know when to step back and say the hard things that need to be said, even if it means causing a rift in that friendship."

Jane pulled her hands away and sat back. With her arms now across her chest, she asked, "So what are the hard words that you think need to be said?"

"For all your bravery, Jane, you're a coward." Jane's head snapped back as if she had been slapped, but the words had been spoken, so Maura carried on. "You're afraid of making choices for yourself, if it means offending or disappointing someone else. You make all the sacrifices in the world for other people, but you won't do it for yourself. You're a daughter, a sister, a detective, a friend, a fiance," her voice rose as she ticked off each label. "When are you just Jane?"

Jane downed the last half of her water before she spoke. "When I'm with you," she whispered. She was surprised at Maura's response.

"No, I don't think that's true." Standing up, Maura turned to the cupboards. "I'll make you a cup of that cocoa you like."

Confused by the turn of events, Jane cautiously stood up and walked towards her. "I'll get it. I know you can't reach." As she made a motion to her right to move past Maura, the shorter woman blocked her. She was blocked again as she made a motion to her left. Sighing, she looked down and asked, "What are you doing?"

"A social experiment of sorts," she replied.

"Don't you need a control group and peer-related studies?" she said, an attempt at injecting levity into the room.

Maura nodded. "In most cases, yes, if I was looking at results for a higher percentage of the population. But in this case, I'm only looking at one test subject." Jane made a move to reach for the cocoa again, and again Maura purposely got in her way.

"Fine," Jane huffed, "I guess I won't be having cocoa."

"If you want it, take it." When the brunette made no further attempt, Maura laughed, but it was an empty sound. "I can't think of a single thing I have that I wouldn't give to you, Jane. Not a single thing. But you can't even find it in yourself to move me out of the way to get cocoa. Because you don't know what my reaction would be if you physically moved me, and you don't want to risk offending me, you'd rather not get what you want. Over _cocoa_ , Jane. If you want it, take it."

The kiss was startling in its swiftness and its intensity. Maura barely had time to let out a sharp note of alarm before her mouth was covered by Jane's, insistent and demanding. Scarred hands slipped up the nape of her neck and grabbed her hair tightly, as a long lean body pinned her against the cupboards. Such was her immediate arousal that she didn't even feel the hard edge of the counter press into her lower back. Her own smaller hands reached around Jane's waist and ground their pelvises together.

"Jane," she sighed, finally allowed to speak only because Jane's attention turned to her neck. The ministrations there held the same unflinching desire as the kiss; this was less about affection than it was about hunger, almost literally. Maura felt the bite marks that were the scouting party to the minor hematomas she knew were forming along her neck. She wondered very briefly how she would hide them in the morning. Perhaps she wouldn't bother. Her hands began to tug the tight shirt out of Jane's pants when she felt a strong grip around her wrists.

"No," Jane all but growled.

Hazel eyes met deep pools of black and a flicker of understanding jumped between them. At long last, this was about Jane taking what she wanted. A deep moan slipped passed Maura's lips. At long last. With her eyes now closed and her brain presently engaged in what Jane's mouth was doing to her jawline, she was unaware of what else was going on until she felt the silk of her robe slide off her shoulders and fall at her feet. The thought barely had time to form before the hem of her camisole was unceremoniously pulled over her head and also dropped to the floor, without care nor consideration. She reached out again to touch her, but remembered the earlier denial, so instead, curled her fingers around the edge of the counter and rested her head against the cupboard. Closing her eyes, she could chart the path Jane's slightly calloused fingertips were making up her bare arms. She could feel every little stutter as those fingers sparked across her skin, setting fires along the way. When the index fingers ghosted over her clavicle and met at the suprasternal notch, Maura pulled her shoulders back and brazenly offered her breasts, her body, her everything.

Seemingly unsatisfied with the tight confines, Jane shifted their bodies until Maura was pressed against the granite island. With two hands firmly around her waist, Maura was lifted onto the counter top, and Jane slid her hands down to peel away the wet lace of her panties, her last feeble line of defence. To Maura's surprise, Jane made a show of stuffing them into her pocket. Ownership. With a facade of calmness that came from God knows where, Maura leaned back on her forearms and looked at Jane as Jane looked at her. She tried not to flinch, not at her own nakedness, but the nakedness of Jane's intent. There was something almost feral in her face, in the way she stood, in the way her eyes claimed ownership over all that she saw. Maura, desperately wanting to blurt out, "I'm yours," was beaten to the punch by her body, as her hips twitched forward to make contact with Jane.

To Maura's dismay, Jane's hands began to move away from where they were needed the most. A whimper of need was ignored as Jane started at Maura's shoulders and scratched a trail to her breasts. Hard, aching nipples pressed into scarred palms and again, Maura threw her head back in pleasure. Heavy-lidded eyes opened wide at the feel of a warm, wet mouth clamping around her right nipple and as she looked down at the dark hair that spread across her breasts, Maura wondered if she might come right there. Her hips involuntarily jerked again, and Jane looked up. Wordlessly, as she had been from almost the very beginning, she trailed her left hand down, through coarse curls, until her fingers hovered over Maura's desperate need.

"Is this what you want, Jane?" she practically panted. "Do you want to know how much I need you?" Her voice trembled in anticipation and she leaned forward to whisper into Jane's ear. "Take me, Jane."

Her fingers, like her lips, were insistent and forceful, and they very nearly lifted Maura off the counter. She moaned a short "Oh!", in a mix of pleasure, pain and relief. Her palms pressed into the smooth granite and fingertips became white under her weight as she wantonly met Jane's thrusts, hips meeting hand, colliding and retreating, colliding and retreating. She felt Jane's right hand snake around her waist and scratch up her back until it grabbed a handful of hair at the nape of her neck. With a tug, her head was pulled back, and Jane's lips touched the small scar that faintly marred the white skin of her throat. The same scar she shared with Jane. The kiss was light and gentle, a moment of tenderness that was shortlived when Jane's mouth moved up and captured Maura's bottom lip between unforgiving teeth. The metallic taste of blood was unmistakeable, but Maura didn't care. Didn't care that she was battered and marked. Didn't care that she was displayed naked on her own counter with a fully clothed Jane Rizzoli between her knees. Didn't care that this was less about lovemaking that it was about ownership and possession. Her only care was to find a release for the aching need between her legs.

She leaned back on her forearms, desperate to find the angle, hooked her heels around Jane's waist to bring her closer, closer, never close enough. The weight of Jane's body pressed her fingers deeper into Maura, who threw her head back and cried out. Her hips ground gracelessly into Jane, bruising thrusts that demanded more and gave everything. Shoulders curled back to offer breasts to Jane’s wandering hand, and she gasped at the contact. The tension was too much and she fell back, the cool granite a respite against her hot skin. Words slipped through her lips at random; a staccato of benedictions, encouragement, languages she thought she had long forgotten.

"Tecum vivere amem, tecum obeam libens. Tecum vivere amem, tecum obeam libens," she whispered over and over.

Jane drew her fingertips across the light sheen of sweat between Maura's breasts and brushed her thumb against her lips, choosing a simpler word.

"Mine."

Maura found the strength to raise herself up on her hands and made sure she caught Jane's gaze before she said, "Yes." Time stretched like a wire between them until it became taut with tension and anticipation. "Please, Jane." Her need was Jane's want and at long last, she felt the pressure of a thumb against her clit. "Yes," she said again, this time in full voice and desire. Her body froze in pleasure, back arched so that her breasts pressed into Jane's cotton shirt, neck exposed, thighs squeezed tightly around a narrow waist. Jane's hand around her back was the only thing holding her up as tiny earthquakes erupted from every nerve ending, seismatic shifts that travelled to every corner of her body. She was certain she had lost the sense of sight beyond the shade of bright whiteness across her eyes, that she would never hear anything other than the roar of blood rushing to her ears. Her body was on fire. Surely, she thought, her body was on fire.

And just as suddenly as the tide began, it subsided, like a stone cast into a pond, until the waves became ripples that dissipated into a calm pool once again. Lactic acid reverted back to pyruvate and her body became limp in Jane's embrace. She summoned the energy to wrap her arms around Jane's shoulders and rested her head in the curve of the taller woman's shoulder. She felt strong fingers gently extricate themselves from her body and she immediately felt incomplete. She pulled back and brushed away the curtain of dark hair, thinking she was going to find a way to tell this woman exactly that, but her words caught in her throat when she saw the tears in Jane's eyes.

"What is it?" Maura asked fearfully. "Tell me."

Jane simply shook her head and pressed her mouth against the softness of Maura's throat. Just when she thought she'd never know, that the detective had once again put on her mask, she felt rather than heard the words against her skin.

"I'm scared."

Maura stroked the wild hair, not only as an act of love but as a means to give herself time. She was always good at the scientific nature of things, could always come up with a factual, logical answer to things. When she had to venture into the emotional aspects of things, it was with trepidation and the guidance of the woman in her arms. As she silently warred between the two, she realized it was truth that Jane deserved.

"I know," she whispered into Jane's temple. "It's okay."

 

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End file.
